


the blame

by carrionqueen (nightquill)



Series: The Ocean [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Mourning, Sibling Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightquill/pseuds/carrionqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hawk would have been safe if it had stayed, but that isn't what hawks do. // leandra may have lost a daughter, but she's forgetting that her kids lost a sibling, too. set a few weeks after arriving in kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the blame

She pulled knit socks up high over her knees and slipped a shawl about her shoulders. If she was going to be an apostate in the templar capital of the Free Marches, she damned well wasn't going to look like one. Her clothes were tatty and worn; a long, loose sweater over a longer, baggier skirt, but in these she was just another refugee. It was safer. She'd broken her staff before boarding the ship from Gwaren. As she shimmied her left hand into her glove, she swore again that she'd never touch another one. 

The right hand was trickier. She'd lost a lot of feeling in the fingers, and the scarring had always restricted her movement - but at least it didn't burn anymore. She wiggled her fingers into the oxblood sheathes that awaited them and jerked the rest of it up her arm. The glove stretched past her elbow, and she would never be seen outside without it. Everyone knew it was burnt; she wasn't _hiding_ it, not exactly, but it was just... easier to keep it covered. With a huff, she tucked her purse between her breasts, slung the empty bag across her body, and grabbed the list. Cheese. Bread. Potatoes. Lentils. Bones for stock. Onions. They'd be lucky if they could afford that.

"I'm coming with you."

Cat looked Carver square in the eyes and shook her head. "I don't need a babysitter."

Carver laughed. "Does that line ever work when I use it on you?" She laughed with him. _No._ That line hadn't worked once in nineteen years. She shrugged, then, fetching a knife and a belt to wind about her waist. 

"Come if you like. It's just groceries," 

"I need to learn my way around as much as you do. And..." he glanced at Leandra - she hadn't really moved since they arrived, curled up by the fire, drinking tea and sighing forlornly - "... It'll be good to get out."

Cat understood immediately, and without another word they slipped quietly out of the house. "Has she spoken to you, yet?" she asked him the moment the door had swung shut, and he shook his head. "Me neither."

She felt her lip twitch involuntarily, a little spasm of her face that betrayed whatever it was she was feeling - guilt? No, probably more a bitter indignation. Carver's face hardened when he saw it, though, lips pressing thinner than usual and the little muscle in his jaw flicking once. "She had no right to say that to you," he was quiet, and her stomach fluttered at his words. She knew what he was talking about. _This was your fault._ The words rung in her head like a chantry bell. 

"She had every right."

Carver's grip was sure and unexpected, above her elbow, a vice as he spun her about. "No. That was _not_ your fault."

Cat bent against the wall, eyes cast low. He might have been right but that didn't change how their mother felt. There'd been anger in her eyes, more than Cat had ever seen. Bethany's body was barely cool and Leandra was passing judgement from way on high, the gavel slamming on the cold, hard ground -- she shook her arm free of Carver's grip. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course. The only one at fault is mother for blaming you. It's done. There's nothing we can do, no way back. This is not your burden."

And there it was. Cat watched his feet as he paced, her lips curving into a sad smile. Of course it was about that. "I'm not trying to take this from you, Carver," she said softly, head bowed as she watched him, short hair falling in pieces either side of her face. "Not this."

He stopped then, stared at her - she could not see his face but she felt his eyes, burning into the top of her head, all anger, anger, anger. "Oh for the love of - you think I'm _jealous_? Of this?" his voice was rising with every syllable, and threatened to break. Cat looked up.

"I don't think you're jealous. That's absurd. But I get that it looks like I'm trying to make this all about me." she reached for his arm and he bristled as she touched it, but he didn't flinch away. "I'm not. Carver, I'm not. This isn't about me. This isn't even about mum or what she said or if she even meant it. It's about us. Bethany was ours. We all lost her. It isn't just me that's hurting, and mother's blame doesn't make it worse." she wondered if her words made sense - her tongue thickened as she spoke, a deep knot in her throat finally silencing her. Her eyes tingled. 

"You're telling me that like I don't feel her loss with every fucking footstep," the words were a snarl but Carver's voice had softened, now, a ragged edge that promised tears. Cat squeezed his forearm. "We all lost her." he echoed. A couple bustled past them on their way from the market. Carver squeezed up against her to let them pass. 

"I'm sorry that mother's so selfish." she half whispered as the passers by shuffled through the alley, arms full of firewood and sacks of grain. "Maybe if I ask her nicely she'll blame something on _you_ for a change," she added, and he thwacked her arm with the back of his hand, his wobbly smile turning into a snotty laugh as he dashed away the tears that had threatened to fall. 

"Are you joking? Taking the heat off me is the only thing you're good for." he chuckled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. "Ass."


End file.
